


Diamond or a Bit of Rough?

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, BAMF John, First Meetings, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock refused to go after the Jaria Diamond in the Blind Banker, because he had someone to come home to. But what if John hadn't been shot and invalidated home? Would Sherlock have found the diamond then? Or something even better?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diamond or a Bit of Rough?

**Author's Note:**

> Left languishing on my hard drive, I found this when copying said hard drive so my computer could be fixed.

“The Jaria Diamond, Mr. Holmes. You have no idea how much it means to have this treasure back with my family.” The Sheik waved his arms around, seeming to encompass the large group gathered in his tent, or maybe the group of tents clustered at the small oasis. The man couldn’t have been prouder if he had tracked down the thieves himself.

When in town, the Sheik was a fierce negotiator with state of the art security, and he enjoyed brains enough to call in Sherlock when the diamond was stolen. Perhaps, by some transitive property of success, he did have the right to be proud that Sherlock had recovered the jewel. Sherlock had learned a great deal during this case, most of which would be deleted soon. He’d learned about the security systems, the family fortunes, and the politics of the region to find the gem. He’d also learned the 20 carat rock was kept by a family so rich it was more valuable as a memento than as an actual diamond. 

Case closed, jewel delivered, and Sherlock was getting bored. The only thing that kept him from pointing that out was just how far he was from Baker Street. He had to be nice to the Sheik to make Mycroft happy, which would get him a helicopter ride to an airport, and a plane back to London. Sherlock had rejected this case when it was first brought to him, but boredom and Mycroft’s insistence had finally convinced him to take it on. The only thing worse than boredom was boredom combined with daily visits from Mycroft until he agreed to help the British government. 

“Mr. Holmes, I know you are a busy man, since I had such trouble hiring you.” The Sheik grinned with false modesty. “For your trouble and inconvenience, I offer you one of my jewels.” 

The Sheik made a broad gesture to his harem of burka covered women, and offered a small bow. It was the bow that kept him from seeing Sherlock roll his eyes, before Sherlock put on his polite face. His helicopter had been called away for some rescue mission or other, and since he didn’t want to wait for it outside, in the boiling noonday weather, Sherlock had to make nice. He looked at the women while studying the best way to get out of taking one home with him. 

“Sheik, you are too kind. My humble service could not equal any one of these beauties.” Sherlock put on his sincere face, and hoped that would be the end of it. A polite offer meets a polite refusal, and we all go on with our lives. 

“Ah, no, Mr. Holmes, I insist. You are too thin, too busy. You need a wife to cook for you and keep your bed comfortable enough that you do not work too hard.” 

Sherlock fought to keep the annoyance off his face. It wasn’t a simple polite offer; the Sheik thought he’d be helping. “Sir, I could not deprive you of the same comforts.” 

“That is why I have many wives, and I am rich enough to afford them.” 

“It would also be unfair to the woman, as my job takes me away from home at all hours.” 

“Worrying is what women do.” The Sheik waved this concern away as if it was a fly. 

“I fear I would not be a good provider.” Sherlock offered. 

“Then select a big one, who will be able to survive through the hard times.” The Sheik was still smiling, but there was an edge to his voice. 

Sherlock thought back to what he’d been told about the importance of accepting gifts, as such gifts proved the wealth of the giver. If Sherlock refused, it could be taken as an insult, and his helicopter still wasn’t here. Deciding he could take one and promptly give her to Mycroft, Sherlock gave a head bow to his host. Turning to look at the women, Sherlock decided to look for intelligence in their eyes, as that was all that was visible to him. 

Only a few seemed to be listening or aware of the conversation, so Sherlock took those seven to speak some English. That shortened his list of potentials considerably, since the English speaking ones might more easily be persuaded to leave him alone. Two of the women had wide eyes, looking terrified of the prospect of leaving with him, so he took them off the list. 

In the back, nearest the guards, sat a woman with wide eyes, twitching where she sat. Her body language suggested she wanted to go with him, or she had to pee; it was hard to tell from a distance in a poorly lit tent. If she could have raised her hand or something, that would have helped. Sherlock couldn’t even tell what color her eyes were in this light, but he decided that she wanted to go. If not, it would be Mycroft’s problem. 

“If she is not a favorite of yours, sir, may I have the one in the back?” Sherlock was rewarded with such an obvious relief from those eyes that it was visible across the distance. Though, with his ‘favorite’ remark, Sherlock did leave the Sheik an opening to keep the girl and let Sherlock leave without a wife. 

“Mr. Holmes, know only that you should not remove the veil until you are alone with your new wife. To do otherwise would terribly shame the child. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir, I understand.” Sherlock answered, even as he tried to figure out why the Sheik would remind him of this now. Was she simply that ugly, or was there something the Sheik didn’t want him to see? 

The Sheik spoke to his men, and then the crowd stood to help her to her feet. As she was walked to Sherlock, he stood, holding out his arm like a British gentleman. When she was close enough to take it, the Sheik was there, putting Sherlock’s hand on her upper arm. With his hands over Sherlock’s hand, the Sheik began speaking, serious sounding words in a language Sherlock didn’t understand. 

There was no spot where the Sheik stopped to look at Sherlock, as if for an ‘I do’ or other words of acceptance. Still, it had the official sounding words of a ceremony. Sherlock was distracted from wondering if it was legally binding in London by the sweet sonata of helicopter blades coming closer. In a pause, the Sheik heard the blades too, but spoke more. In fact, he spoke until the helicopter had landed, as heard by the change in pitch. There were more pleasantries to come, as the whole male population of the oasis came up to shake his hand and offer congratulations in fragmented English. But as the line seemed to be moving him toward the helicopter, new wife plastered to his side, Sherlock went with it. 

He even managed a smile through most of it, as he imagined introducing his bride to different people in his life. Sally’s face was his favorite so far when he made it to the helicopter. As if they were eager to get rid of him, or his wife, the members of the family practically lifted the woman onto the helicopter. The British copilot had her strapped in before Sherlock got on, and put the earphones over her burka as Sherlock fastened his own straps. Then his headset was on, the crowd was moving back, and the helicopter was taking off. Sherlock rested his head back and turned to stare out at the passing desert. 

It wasn’t that long before the helicopter landed, seeming in the middle of nowhere. Sherlock’s confusion was answered when a camouflage tarp was moved, and out came Mycroft from what was probably a secret base built into the ground. In his full suit, Mycroft looked highly out of place, but not as strange as he would have looked in anything less. Once he was buckled in, the helicopter took off again. Sherlock didn’t ask, figuring Mycroft would have said something vague about security precautions, which really meant he didn’t want to talk to the Sheik either. Though, from the way he cleared his throat over the headphones, he wanted to talk about something. Or someone. 

Sherlock leaned forward, and sure enough, Mycroft was doing the same, so they could see each other over the black clad figure between them. 

Mycroft arched an eyebrow; mocking him for not being able to think his way out of the wife. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes; Mycroft had insisted he be polite to the rich and powerful Sheik. 

Mycroft squinted his eyes in a disapproving manner; Sherlock should be able to outsmart people and be polite about it. 

Sherlock glared daggers at Mycroft, but only because he didn’t have any actual daggers on him. 

Mycroft smirked; please Sherlock had resorted to physical violence first. 

“It’s not binding in London.” Sherlock hissed back. 

“I guess we will have to see how she feels about being abandoned in _terra ignota_.” 

Between them, the woman roll her eyes in exasperation. Both brothers shared confused looks at that. If the woman spoke enough English and Latin to understand what they said, and had the wherewithal to be annoyed at them, why didn’t she speak to them? 

Turning to look, Sherlock realized her eyes were blue, a strange color that looked dark from a distance but lightened considerably with closeness and the sunlight filtering in the helicopter. There were wrinkles around those eyes, laugh lines, and dark eyebrow pencil drawn through blonde eyebrows. 

“Would it really bother you if I took off the veil?” Sherlock asked, but he was answered with the beeping of the helicopter. The pilot jerked the helicopter to the left and started climbing. A quick look out the window showed why, as a rocket fell short of the helicopter. Looking around as best he could with the helicopter being evasive, Sherlock saw a crowd below them, desert dwellers on horseback. They had rocket launchers and machine guns, not the heavily armed militia that was expected to go after Mycroft. 

Turning to his new wife, Sherlock took off her headset, and she pointed her head to him, as if to help him take off the veil. Sherlock pulled it off and found himself staring at short blonde hair, cut in the style of military personal. The blond looked up, showing Sherlock the wide gag cutting into his mouth. Around the gag, his skin was cracked, dotted with dried blood. The gag had been put in to make him as uncomfortable as possible, able to make little noise without hurting himself more or making his dry throat ache. 

“A male omega, in hiding, joins the military and gets captured, and the enemy finds out his secret.” Mycroft deduced in Sherlock’s ear. 

“American or British?” Sherlock shot back, knowing Mycroft couldn’t tell because the man had been put in the burka. “British.” Sherlock answered himself, hoping it was true, simply because it would annoy Mycroft the most to have an omega hiding in his army. 

The omega cast a confused glance at Sherlock. He couldn’t hear the words without his headset, but he might have been able to read the word ‘British’ on Sherlock’s lips. 

Something slammed into the side of the helicopter, sending more alarms blaring and dragging their attention back outside. The men on horseback were after the male omega. They’d been converging on the Sheik to buy the omega or fight for the right to claim him, and the Sheik had been happy to pass on that privilege. He’d told the men that Sherlock had the omega and left it to them to sort out. Sherlock turned to glare at Mycroft. 

“If we hadn’t stopped to pick you up, we’d have been out of their range.” 

An explosion punctuated his words and the helicopter tilted to the right. This put Sherlock in the position of looking up at his big brother, strapped into their seats. The helicopter didn’t right itself, and the pilot began to curse as the helicopter spiraled slowly downward. Between them, the omega just looked resigned. Sherlock had a moment to wonder at that before the helicopter slammed into something hard and unyielding. 

As they flipped tail over cockpit, Sherlock figured they’d just slammed into the planet. Not his best deduction, but he considered it adequate as his head had violently connected with the body of the helicopter twice. Things had a nice haze to them as he noticed the omega struggling in his seat. The omega had surprisingly big breasts for a man who wasn’t lactating. Reaching out to touch, it took Sherlock several gropes to understand what he was feeling. Knuckles, instead of nipples. The omega’s hands had been bound to the front of his chest, which was why they’d lifted him into the helicopter, instead of making him try and work his way on. 

Sherlock reached into his own pocket and pulled out the folding knife he traveled with. It was a slow process to unfold it, and then he used his left hand to find the rope around the omega’s arms. Carefully as he could, he sawed through the burka and rope until the omega struggled free. 

“A fighting chance.” Sherlock said, but couldn’t hear his own voice. Unconsciousness was tempting, but the omega was interesting, so Sherlock struggled to watch him a little more. The omega got out of the helicopter fastenings, as if used to them, and kept a grip on the seat so he didn’t fall into Mycroft. Blinking and trying to raise his head, Sherlock realized he’d landed on the upside of the helicopter, and he was looking down at the omega and Mycroft. 

Then the omega was climbing, forcing his way to the front of the helicopter. The pilot and gunner were given a quick check over, and then the omega was stealing their weapons. He took the guns with him to check Mycroft, and then he was climbing back up the seats to take Sherlock’s head in his rough hands. Sherlock’s thoughts about monkeys climbing through helicopters stopped cold with those blue eyes so close, so carefully assessing pupil dilation as gentle hands tested head wounds. 

“Medic or doctor?” Sherlock wanted to ask, but he didn’t break the silence of the moment. The omega was hugging him, holding him, as the straps were released. Sherlock wanted to protest as his feet were lowered to the gap where Mycroft was curled around the far door, but getting his feet to work took so much effort he couldn’t protest that the omega was letting him go. 

Holding his body weight on his arms, grasping the seat backs of the copilot seat and passenger seat, the omega was swinging his body up, kicking at their window roof. Two kicks and the plastic window, loosened by the crash, shoved outward. Stripping off the burka, the omega used it to grab and shove the window out of the way. The burka was put into service as a mat to cover the hot surface of the helicopter, and then the omega leaned on it, a gun in each hand. 

It wasn’t much, two pistols against an army of horny alphas, but it was a fighting chance, and the omega seemed to get that. Climbing carefully, so that he didn’t knock the omega out of position, feet perched on the backs of the seats, Sherlock stuck his head out the window. The alphas were slowly circling the crashed helicopter, not wanting to scare off the omega, and not wanting to get caught in an explosion, should the helicopter’s fuel catch fire. There were so many, even if they’d had a machine gun the omega wouldn’t have won. 

A horse broke away from the pack, trotting toward them, his rider’s mouth moving as if he was speaking. The rider got rather close before a bloody spot bloomed from his forehead. Without the alpha forcing him to go closer, the horse turned and trotted away from the helicopter. Sherlock turned to the omega, whose gun was still pointed toward the crowd. Panic started somewhere deep inside, as Sherlock realized he hadn’t heard a shot fired less than a foot away. Deafness could be temporary, the result of the noise of the crash, but they’d never get out of here alive to find out. Sherlock forced himself to speak clearly and loudly, though he couldn’t hear his own voice. 

“I have my knife, so I can kill you when you are ready.” 

Startled, the omega blinked at him before leaning forward and softly tapping their foreheads together. Acceptance and permission, Sherlock supposed, as the omega turned and fired at an alpha trying to sneak up on their moment. I could have gone for an omega like that, Sherlock thought, as unconsciousness claimed him. 

ZZZZZZZZZ

Sherlock’s dreams were full of the local data he hadn’t managed to delete yet, and the image of the male omega being subjected to local customs. As badly as omegas were treated in England, where they were considered too stupid to attend school, things were worse here. Female alphas were routinely killed, as soon as they presented, to preserve the family honor. Male omegas were abominations in the places a British soldier would have been captured, subject to instant death when found. But war was expensive, and the abominations could be sold to neighboring countries, who would use the fecundity of the omega to increase their family size. 

Sherlock’s dreams showed the soldier and doctor omega chained up, constantly used by faceless alphas, not given a moment’s peace, not even after a child gushed out of him. Forcing himself out of his dream, Sherlock awoke to a world of noise, familiar noise. Air scrubbers hummed, medical machines pinged, and someone was reading a newspaper. Forcing himself to sit up, Sherlock expected pain and Mycroft. 

What he got was a rush of senses, telling him something more interesting was going on than pain. Mycroft’s slick head didn’t poke over the top of the newspaper, and the newspaper was twitching, shaking in the hand that held it. 

“Who are you?” Sherlock demanded, even as he took in a quick glance at his surroundings. Modern medical equipment, though he wasn’t hooked up to any of it, except an IV. The writing was in English, but this didn’t have the feel of a temporary army hospital. The crinkling of the newspaper held some answers, and Sherlock saw it was lowered to show him the face of the male omega. 

“My name’s John.” A pleasant tenor voice, suited to the compact man Sherlock had thought was female for so long. 

“How’d we get here?” 

“I don’t know who your pilots called, but the rescue squad was quick. They showed up about five minutes after you blacked out.” 

“Blacked out? Hardly a technical term that I would expect from a doctor.” Sherlock snarled, annoyed at having to ask questions to get information. 

“How did you know?” 

“The way you carried yourself in a crashed helicopter said training, soldier. The way you checked everybody’s pulse said medical training, but the way you looked in my eyes and checked my bumps at the same time said extensive medical training. Army doctor, or field surgeon. Captured, for long enough that you revealed your omega nature, suppressants wore off, and you got sold to a broker. But to be captured, you had to be in the field, so field surgeon.” 

“Brilliant.” The omega said, and Sherlock felt something in him bloom. None of the omegas trained in pleasing alphas had been able to get that part of him to open up. Their blatant flattery appealed to his alpha nature, but this was something more; this appealed to the part of him that was human, and not simply an alpha. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t even look like me and you were able to figure all that out. That’s amazing, really.” 

The Mycroft in his mind palace cleared his throat, forcing Sherlock out of dwelling in the moment. He would commit it to his permanent hard drive later. “So we were rescued, and Mycroft got us VIP treatment, including transportation to this hospital, wherever it is.” 

“Mycroft? Strange name, but it fits that posh git. Not that he talked to me. They made sure we were all right, Mycroft talked to the doctors about me, and then shoved us both in this suite.” 

“Suite?” Sherlock repeated to word out of shock, knowing full well what rooms were referred to as suites in hospitals. The maternity suites, where an alpha and omega could bond with their new child, and omega suites, where medically assisted bondings could take place. 

“Yeah, that’s the same look you got when the Sheik offered you a wife.” John nodded wisely, but didn’t drop the newspaper or move from his chair. 

Sherlock realized he was on a very big bed for a hospital room. 

“I didn’t figure you wanted an omega, of either sex, and you were ready to do right by me in that helicopter.” John continued. “So I’m going to give you a chance to get out of this.” 

Interest made Sherlock sit up straighter. They were locked in a room designed to make them mate. Everything in here was disposable, so if the alpha smashed it, it was no great financial loss. There was a door to the bathroom, but it didn’t lock. The door to the hallway did lock, rather well, but it was locked from the outside. Monitors in the air scrubbers would let the staff know when the omega’s heat was over, and then they’d cautiously open the door. If the omega had found a way out of this trap, that would be very interesting. 

“I’ve disconnected my IV, and rigged to pole to jam the bathroom door. Once I go in there and set it up, the door will have to be pulled from its frame to be opened. It’ll take tools and coordination you won’t have, once the rut hits you.” 

“Then why are you out here, talking to me?” 

“It’ll be hard, as you’ll be able to smell me. You might even injure yourself trying to get to me. I wanted to make sure it was something you wanted, before I tried it.” 

“What happens to you, after they get you out?” 

John shrugged, as if it was nothing. “They’ll find somebody to mate me, don’t worry about that.” 

Sherlock flashed back to his dream, John being serviced by faceless men until children popped out of his abused body. All that sass and intelligence drowned in sperm and society’s expectations. 

“What if I wanted to mate you?” 

“That’s probably just your hormones talking. I wasn’t that far from my heat when you pulled me out of that oasis.” 

“Which is why the crowd of alphas was on their way.” Sherlock nodded. “I can’t even smell you, so you can’t be that far gone.” 

John grinned. “I jammed the air scrubbers so they are on full, and found a roll of gauze to put a stopper in certain things.” 

Realizing John had shoved a roll of gauze up his dripping arse, Sherlock was hit by a powerful wave of lust. His alpha was waking up, yes, but John appealed to more than that primal urge. How strange. How interesting. 

“I sometimes go for days without talking, I play the violin to help me think, and I won’t report my every movement to you.” 

“You don’t want an omega.” 

“No, I don’t. But I think I want you.” It was a strange thing to think, and Sherlock was sure some of his confusion showed up in his voice. 

“I’m trying to be a gentlebeing here, but my hormones are pretty demanding right now.” John replied. “Are you sure?” 

Sherlock flipped back the blankets, not surprised to find he was naked under them. They’d put him here to mate the omega, so what would have been the point of clothes? He gestured to his erection and watched as the omega’s eyes darkened, and he licked his bottom lip. Sherlock’s erection responded with a throb of want. 

“I’m this hard and I can’t even smell you.” 

Dropping the newspaper, John let Sherlock see his erection and naked body. Scarred and with the patchy tan of wearing clothes in the sunlight, it was a beautiful body. John tossed his right leg over the arm of the chair, and reached in to pull a sodden mass from his arse. It hit the ground with a slosh, and Sherlock’s alpha was awake, growling, demanding sex even before the smell hit him. The smell brought every instinct to the forefront, all rational thought pausing to relish it. 

The omega had moved to the bedside while he indulged in the aroma, so the alpha picked him up to join him on the bed. The omega settled across Sherlock’s lap, instead of presenting, but it didn’t matter as the omega found Sherlock’s cock and slid it into his arse. Grabbing hips, Sherlock pounded up and into his omega. The omega might not have had the refinement Mycroft would demand of any omega he would mate, but John was far from a bit of rough. He was a diamond in the rough, a gem only valuable to those who took the time to see it. 

Sliding his hands up John’s back, Sherlock pulled John to him. He would claim, bite his omega, for he would not risk anyone stealing what was most precious to him. His John, who had been willing to let Sherlock be alone, if that was where his happiness was. It wasn’t where his happiness was, at least not anymore. 

ZZZZZZZZZ


End file.
